An’ my shirt band thrown wide open an’ my feet upon the rail,
Oh, it’s then I’m at my richest, with a wealth that cannot fail;
For the scent of early roses seems to flood the evening air,
An’ a throne of downright gladness is my wicker rocking chair.
The dog asleep beside me, an’ the children rompin’ ’round
With their shrieks of merry laughter, Oh, there is no gladder sound
To the ears o’ weary mortals, spite of all the scoffers say,
Or a grander bit of music than the children at their play!
An’ I tell myself times over, when I’m sittin’ there at night,
That the world in which I’m livin’ is a place o’ real delight.
Then the moon begins its climbin’ an’ the stars shine overhead,
An’ the mother calls the children an’ she takes ’em up to bed,
An’ I smoke my pipe in silence an’ I think o’ many things,
An’ balance up my riches with the lonesomeness o’ kings,
An’ I come to this conclusion, an’ I’ll wager that I’m right-
That I’m happier than they are, sittin’ on my porch at night.

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